


Warm Glow That Lingers On

by zaphodsgirl



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, First Dates, First Kiss, Fluff, M/M, Mistletoe, Pretzels Instead of Pie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-12
Updated: 2017-12-12
Packaged: 2019-02-09 16:49:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12892359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zaphodsgirl/pseuds/zaphodsgirl
Summary: Castiel has worked as a mall elf for the past four years, watching countless families come to take pictures with Santa as the children tell him their heart's desire. This year Castiel may get his own heart's desire when a gorgeous man brings his young charge to the North Pole.





	Warm Glow That Lingers On

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to the amazing [whichstiel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/whichstiel/pseuds/whichstiel) for her beta help! You were wonderful, and it was fun keeping something out of [superhoney's](https://archiveofourown.org/users/superhoney/pseuds/superhoney) clutches for once so I could dangle this before her like...well, mistletoe. I hope she likes it after all this mystery.

“I can’t believe I let you talk me into doing this again,” Meg says as she looks at herself in the mirror, her face a mask of contempt incongruous with the outfit she currently wears.

“I don’t know why you think it’s so terrible,” Castiel replies, straightening the hat on his matching attire. “Don’t you enjoy the looks on all their faces once they get up to the front?”

“No, because I can’t focus over the sound of all the screaming while the others wait their damn turn.”

Castiel sighs, hooking his arm over her shoulders and turning her away from the mirror, resolutely marching her towards the staff room door. 

“Just remember why you’re doing this.”

“Oh, I do. You promised me beer. Copious amounts of liquid sunshine that will be applied liberally to the migraine I’m sure to come away from this with.”

He laughs softly to himself as he maneuvers them both out the door and onto the sales floor, each of them tinkling softly as they make their way over to the cordoned off area in the center of the store outfitted to look like the North Pole.

“Why can’t they give us masks to go with this get-up?” Meg drawls as she reaches up to bat at the bell on the end of her pointed hat. “We look like weird-ass Harlequin mimes, might as well complete the look in a way that will prevent anyone I know from recognizing me.”

Castiel looks down at his own outfit: diamond pattern leggings in the obligatory red and green, covered by a long matching tunic with a diamond-edged hem that stops at the top of his thighs. More bells dangle from the tips of the diamonds all the way around. Their hats and shoes are red felt trimmed in green fuzz, and he’s always secretly liked the way the point of the shoes curl up and around, back towards his ankles, a little bell dangling from each tip. 

He’d never had access to anything so playful and elaborate as a child, so he rather enjoys indulging himself a little in the ridiculous now, even though he’s twenty-two. He just pokes Meg in the ribs until she gets into her assigned spot, and once Santa arrives picture time begins.

This is Castiel’s fourth year as an elf, and it still hasn’t gotten old for him. Meg may focus on the bad apples, but for him most of the visits are magical: the wide eyes of the children as they sit on Santa’s lap, the fond looks on the faces of the parents, the cheerful chatter from the photographer as she entices the kids to look at the camera and smile. It’s a fantasy of a life he’s never known that he gets to indulge in once a year, and it helps to soften the edges of sorrow that linger around his life. 

“Hot daddy alert,” he hears Meg mutter under her breath, and though he rolls his eyes at first he follows her gaze to the front of the line. 

A very tall and striking man waits there, made much taller by the young boy that is currently sitting on top of his shoulders. Castiel’s eyes can’t help but take in the slightly scuffed leather boots and dark blue jeans encasing a pair of bowed legs, before slowly moving up. He lingers on the charcoal v-neck sweater the man wears over a light blue-button down, with a leather bomber jacket to complete the ensemble. 

“He’s either gay or has a woman at home to dress him,” Meg whispers in his ear, and he elbows her in the ribs. 

“That’s ridiculous. Why do you say those things?” he hisses back, and she just shrugs.

“You probably have a point. You’re gay and you can’t seem to dress worth a damn.”

“And you live with me so half the fault is yours,” he retorts, rolling his eyes before he goes back to secretly staring. The man has his head tilted up and sideways to look at the boy, who’s gazing back down at him with an expression akin to worship, both smiling so hard that Castiel feels his own lips turning up in a grin. The man grasps the kid’s thighs firmly, keeping him in place, and the boy shows no sign of fear that he’s so high off the ground.

 _I bet they do that a lot_ , he thinks idly, wondering what it’s like to feel safe and treasured.

The photographer finishes up the current session, and as her assistant deals with the parents he helps the little girl currently on Santa’s lap get down and join them. He holds her hand firmly as she stares back over her shoulder, as unwilling to leave as they all are.

He’s not surprised. Garth is the third Santa he’s worked with and by far the best, filling out the padded suit so well you’d never know there was a lanky, baby-faced dentist underneath the fake beard. 

“Next!” he hears Meg bellow behind him, her small frame belying her ability to make herself heard over a crowd. He takes a deep breath as he delivers his charge to her waiting mother, and then turns back to the next customer, reminding himself not to stare. Meg escorts them into the enclosure, directing the man over to Castiel. He swings the boy off his shoulders in a graceful swoop, placing him on his own feet just as Castiel kneels before him.

“Well, hey there! What’s your name?” he asks the boy, dragging his attention away from his dad. 

“I’m Adam!” he chirps enthusiastically, and Castiel smiles, trying not think about the extremely hot man whose crotch is now hovering beside him right at eye level. 

“Well, Adam, are you ready to tell Santa what you want for Christmas?” Adam nods so fast his head is practically a blur.

“Alright then. Follow me, kiddo,” he says, standing up. “May I?” he asks the man, gesturing to take Adam’s hand from him. 

“Oh, yeah, sure,” the man replies, and as Castiel looks directly at his face for the first time he can’t prevent his own sharp intake of breath, forgetting for a moment what he’s supposed to be doing. This man is stunning to look at, and Castiel is especially taken in by the shape of his mouth, the lips so luscious he wonders what they’ll taste like. Shaking himself, he looks back down at Adam as he takes his hand. He leads him over to the chair, helping him climb into Santa’s lap. 

Castiel steps back a few feet, out of the frame of the picture, and gestures to the man where he should wait. He hovers nearby instead, both of them watching as Adam turns his smiling face to the camera.

Castiel wants to make small talk, be polite, but these are talents that have always eluded him. Instead he watches silently, painfully aware of the walking menswear ad’s close proximity to him. 

“So,” the man says, his rugged voice much closer than expected. Castiel nearly jumps at both his proximity and the intimate brush of warm breath against his ear. “Do you ever get to play the big guy?”

“Excuse me?” Castiel says, turning towards him, and the man gestures to Santa with a nod of his head. Jesus, he’s handsome. Are his eyes green? Goddamn mall lighting. Castiel clears his throat. “Uh, no, not really.” He can already hear what Meg will say when he tells her this later -- _you should have asked him if he wants to sit on_ your _lap, you moron_ \-- but to do it himself he would have to be a different person in a different place. As it is, just imagining it is enough to make him blush a little bit. 

“What, do you have to work your way up through the elf ranks before you can get a promotion?” the man asks, and Castiel is baffled because the parents never make small talk with him. They’re too focused on getting their kids to pose perfectly and then wringing their hands over which picture package they want. 

He turns to look at the man again, standing with his hands in his pockets and his eyes on his son, but giving the distinct impression of his attention actually being on Castiel. It calms him somehow, unlocking his reticent tongue and making him respond in a way he usually only does with Meg.

“Well, I should probably ask someone, since I’ve been doing this for four years now and haven’t moved one rung up the corporate ladder.” He turns his focus back to Adam as he says it, now enthusiastically telling Santa what he wants for Christmas. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see that handsome face grinning. 

"Someone willing to wear that outfit for four straight years should at least get a fat raise, if not a promotion."

"Well, I do get to eat all the candy canes I desire."

"Is that right?"

"Unfortunately I do not, in fact, enjoy consuming candy canes. I find them quite unpalatable." The man is grinning widely now, and Castiel feels quite pleased with himself.

"Even the fruit flavored ones? Those are delicious."

"You're assuming we have variety at the North Pole. I must disabuse you of this notion. Nothing but peppermint."

"So maybe the only reason those are available to you in large quantities is because no one else will eat them."

"A point I have long pondered over, but my contract is unfortunately vague in regards to employee compensations beyond wage."

"Are there any other compensations?" 

_Well, you’re here_ , Castiel thinks, but can’t summon the bravery to say.

"Well, I could probably sit on Santa's lap whenever I wanted."

"But you don't?"

"God no. He's got bony knees, I imagine it's very uncomfortable."

At this the man throws his head back and laughs. It's genuine and infectious and soon Castiel is laughing, too, but moments later their time is up. Castiel moves to help Adam get down from Santa's lap, taking his hand. 

"Did you tell Santa everything you want for Christmas?" he asks, and Adam nods voraciously, a smile on his face from ear to ear. 

"Dean!" he calls out as they get back to the man, who leans down to scoop the eager boy up in his arms, planting him on one hip with an arm firmly around him. Castiel looks at them quizzically. 

"You call your dad Dean?" he blurts without thinking, but Adam just giggles.

"He's not my dad, silly. He's my big brother!" 

"Oh!" He looks at the man, Dean, apparently, with a sheepish look on his face. "My apologies. I just assumed."

"That's okay, man, happens all the time," Dean says, giving him a wink before extending the hand not holding Adam. "Thanks a lot, uh..."

"Sorry! Castiel," he says, shaking the proffered hand. "My name is Castiel." Dean's hand is warm and firm and his palms are a little rough, like he does hard labor. It takes a minute for Castiel to remember what he's supposed to be doing. "Uh, if you'll just head over there, Becky will go over all the portrait packages with you." He releases Dean's hand as he gestures towards the exit, and tears himself away to go help Meg with the next kid in line. 

It takes concentrated effort to focus on his job and not turn back to look every five minutes. By the time he allows himself to peek behind him Dean and Adam are both gone.

*******

Two hours later, just shy of the point where Meg will reach her limit and begin actively plotting the death of every child in the mall, picture time with Santa ends for the day. She and Garth head back through the staff door to change. Castiel pulls the red velvet rope across the opening and clips it to the opposite stanchion before going to help Donna and Becky gather up the photography equipment. 

"Castiel?" says a voice off to his left, and despite having only heard it briefly earlier in the day he knows exactly who it belongs to. He can feel the increased flutter of his own pulse, the threatening flush of excitement just waiting to clamber up his cheeks and give him away. 

He turns to see Dean standing just outside the faux wooden fencing that surrounds the North Pole display. Castiel excuses himself as Donna sends him off with a wink, and he surreptitiously takes a few deep breaths as he approaches the barrier.

"Hello, Dean," he says. "What are you doing back here?" 

Dean shoves his hands into his pockets and looks down at his feet, shuffling one of his boots against the tile. 

"Uh, this is kind of embarrassing but, uh, would you..." he rubs the back of his neck and takes a deep breath before lifting his head to look Castiel in the eye. "Would you like to go get a pretzel with me?" He points to the food kiosk just behind him as Castiel blinks rapidly, completely taken aback. "Or, um, if you don't like pretzels we could...we could walk down to the food court at the other end and get ice cream? I mean, everybody likes ice cream, right?" 

"Oh, well..."

"You know what, uh, never mind,. This is stupid, you probably have things to do. I'm sorry I'll just..." he looks completely dejected as he turns to walk away but Castiel reaches out to grab his arm, the contact quelling the panic rising within him.

"Dean, wait! You just-- You caught me off guard. Uh, I'd like that."

"Yeah?" He turns back, and the smile he gives Castiel makes his heart skip a beat.

"Of course. I mean," he gestures to himself. "I'll be there with bells on."

Dean looks completely thunderstruck for a minute and then bursts out into the same full-bellied laugh that charmed Castiel earlier in the day.

"Not that I'm not completely _loving_ this outfit, but I can wait if you want to change first?" he finally says when he can catch his breath.

"Give me ten minutes? I'll meet you over there by that door." 

He tries not to look like he's hurrying, aiming for casual saunter as he makes his way through the staff room door into the changing area, and then runs back to the lockers. Meg has already put on her street clothes and is pulling on her shoes as he careens into the room. She looks up in surprise.

"What's gotten into you, Clarence?" she says as she stands and puts on her leather jacket, pulling her car keys out of a pocket.

"Hot dad came back to ask me to go and get a pretzel with him!"

"Uh, does his wife have anything to say about that?" she asks with a raised eyebrow. 

"Ugh, I didn't tell you. He's not a dad, he's an older brother!" He frantically pulls his own clothes out of the locker, but is still careful as he takes off his elf costume. The bells hurt like a bitch if they catch on your skin.

"Well, I'll be damned. Look at you reeling in the big fish."

"Oh god, Meg. What do we talk about?" He freezes, arms in his navy blue sweater, one thumb in the neck hole as he readies it to pull over his head. "What if he doesn't like me?"

"Clarence. He liked you well enough in a ten minute interaction that he came back to the mall hours later to ask you on a date. Breathe. Put your fucking clothes on!" She gives him that cocky grin of hers. "Want me to wait up?"

"Meg! We just met, don't be ridiculous." He finishes dressing, trying to do something with his hair in the mirror by the door, but it's been under a hat all day and he makes a frustrated noise.

"Hold on," Meg says, running the nearby faucet and wetting her hands. She runs them through his hair, pulling at the strands, and then steps back to survey her handiwork. "Better."

"Ok." He takes a deep breath. "Okay, I can do this."

Meg surveys him up and down, reaching out to pick something off his shoulder, before stepping back to punch him in the arm.

"Go get 'im, tiger." 

Dean is waiting right by the door as he exits, just on the other side of the barrier. Castiel grins as he ducks under the velvet rope at the entrance, leaving the North Pole behind. Part of him is surprised Dean actually waited, because if there’s anything Castiel is unaccustomed to, it’s good fortune.

"So...pretzel?" Castiel says, grinning. "We could get a couple and find a spot to sit over by the fountain." 

"That sounds great," Dean says in a rush, as though he's been holding his breath. "Thanks for not calling me out on my creeping behavior, by the way. This is not my normal M.O."

"I hadn't actually given it much thought," Castiel says as they approach the back of the line. "What _is_ your normal procedure, anyway?" 

"Uh, this is the part where I admit I don't actually have one? I mean, I usually talk to people in bars or something. I've, uh… I've never hit on an elf before." 

"Well, no one has ever hit on me in that outfit before." 

Dean laughs, soft and endearing, and Castiel can't believe he's standing in line next to this gorgeous man, bantering back and forth like they've known each other for months instead of hours. 

"I'm glad to hear it. I like to think I'm unique." 

"Oh, I have no doubt," Castiel says, and when Dean looks up he finds himself mesmerized by the intensity of his gaze. _Green_ , he thinks. _Definitely green_. 

"Can I help you?” says a slightly annoyed voice. They've been so caught up in each other neither realized they're next in line, and Dean shakes his head as if to clear it. He gently places his hand on Cas's shoulder blade, gesturing for him to order first. He then pays for them both and leads the way over to the fountain, standing close enough in the crowd that Castiel can feel his body heat.

It's late evening in the mall and less than a week before Christmas, but they manage to find a free spot to sit at the far end. Castiel realizes it probably wasn't the best idea to get the cinnamon sugar pretzel, since he's sure to make a sticky mess of himself. He sighs, not even surprised that he's going to commit social suicide on the very first date.

"So," Dean starts. "That was my baby brother, before. I don't have any kids of my own."

"I'm sorry if you were offended, it's just that most of the time..."

"Oh, no! Not offended. It happens a lot, actually, since there's such an age difference. I have another brother, Sam, but he's only four years younger than me - nineteen. Adam is actually our half-brother."

"Is that strange?" Castiel asks with a tilt of his head. Family dynamics are fascinating to him.

"Not for me. I practically raised Sam myself, so I'm used to taking care of a little kid, you know? Not that I have to take care of Adam. Our dad's really settled down since he married Kate. Uh, that's our stepmom. God, this conversation is boring, I swear I didn't ask you out to bore you to death."

Cas's heart flutters in his chest a little bit.

"Dean, you're not boring me. Far from it. I love knowing about people’s families, how they interact, where they come from. It's why I keep coming back to do the elf thing every year, watching the parents and kids interact during such a magical time." He sighs in defeat at the cinnamon sugar dusting his thighs, knowing there's no way to unobtrusively brush it off. He glances at Dean, who's smirking at him. "Clearly, mistakes have been made."

"You're fine. Adam managed to smear an entire ice cream cone into his face and hair after pictures. I'm still not sure any made it into his mouth, and I'm terrified to see the state of my car in the daylight. So this is not the worst thing I've seen today." He reaches out slowly, as though he's giving Castiel the chance to move away, and then deliberately brushes the sugar off his pants, cupping one of his knees firmly before he pulls back.

"Thank you," Castiel whispers, and Dean's gaze flicks down to his lips before he turns back to his own pretzel.

"So, Cas. Not that I'm not enjoying this pretzel immensely, but there's been something on my mind ever since we sat down." Castiel pauses with his last bite between his fingers, watching as Dean takes his phone from his pocket. "Could I get your number? Because I'd really like to call you sometime. Get to know you better. Maybe take you out to a place with a table and actual chairs."

"I prefer booths," he says without thinking, and Dean grins. 

"Even better. So, um, could I?"

"I'd like that, Dean," he says, carefully reciting his digits as Dean punches them into his phone, and then watches him type something out before putting it away. He feels his own phone buzz in his back pocket as the text alert goes off.

"Now you've got me," Dean says, knocking Cas's leg with his knee. "So, can I walk you out to your car?"

"You can walk me out to the bus stop? I don't have a car, but it pulls up right outside these doors."

Dean looks at him levelly for a moment, balling up the napkins and waxed paper their pretzels came in. 

"I could...I could give you a ride? If you'd let me. I know you just met me and don't know me from, well, _Adam_ ," he says, chucking the paper into a nearby trash can in one fell swoop. "But I'd really like to take you home, Cas."

There's no way he's going to refuse, but he can't seem to get any actual words out. Finally he just nods, and Dean grins as he leaps to his feet. They walk in the direction of the closest exit, and Dean tells Castiel about his day at the mall with Adam. 

"Kate's a nurse, and things are always really hectic around the holidays. Our dad's a bounty hunter, if you can believe that."

"That incredible, but isn't it dangerous?" 

"Most of the time it's really boring, actually, but it makes his schedule unpredictable. So I offered to bring Adam to Santa myself and then take him shopping for the folks." He stops next to a large black car, her paint gleaming under the streetlights, and he opens the passenger door. Castiel slides into the leather seat, cold from being out in the lot. Dean doesn't waste time getting behind the wheel and firing up the engine. Soon enough heat floods the interior, and Castiel holds his fingers over the vents, enjoying the warm air as it caresses his skin. 

"That was sweet of you, Dean, to brave pictures with Santa on their behalf," Castiel says.

"I kind of wish I'd brought Adam years ago," Dean says softly, and Castiel blushes as he looks down at his hands. 

Dean puts the car into gear and carefully pulls out of the parking lot as Castiel gives him directions to where they live. “Do you live all by yourself?” he asks, no doubt familiar with the rundown state of the neighborhood Castiel is directing him to.

"No, the other elf that was working, Meg, is my roommate. More like a sister, really. We kind of grew up together."

"Same school?"

"Same orphanage, though I'd already been there for a while by the time she got there."

"Geez, Cas, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to pry. That's terrible."

"You're not prying, Dean. We're just talking. And don't feel bad. It's just the fact of my life, no sense feeling bad about it."

"Can I ask..."

"What happened to my parents? I don't know. I was a found orphan, apparently, and lucky. There weren't any safe-haven laws when I was born. I was put in the care of a Catholic orphanage, and the nuns named me Castiel after some angel. The place was littered with oddly named children, I guess not everybody can be a Michael." 

"I suppose that's why families are so interesting to you."

"Yes, I imagine so. I lived there all my life, almost until I turned eighteen."

He trails off, realizing too late that he's probably putting Dean off with this topic. It's not the first time that he's alienated someone with talk of his upbringing, his pathetic circumstances. No one really wants to hang out with the destitute weirdo that was raised by nuns. He doesn't know where he'd be without Meg, the only friend he'd ever really had in that place, the only friend he really even has now. He looks silently out the passenger side window, wringing his hands together in his lap and worrying that he's ruined everything.

A warm hand covers both of his, and Dean caresses the back of Castiel's left hand with his thumb before curling it into his and pulling their joined hands over to rest on his thigh.

"Eventually, you're going to tell me all about this, okay? I want to know everything about you, even the things you think no one wants to hear. Is that...would that be alright with you?" Dean doesn't take his eyes off the road as he talks, but the sincerity in his voice is unmistakeable. 

"Yes, Dean."

"Good," he responds, smiling. "I'll tell you all my stuff, too. There's plenty. We'll get it all out of the way, and then maybe we can focus on making new, fun memories."

"I'd like that."

He would, he thinks, though it's strange to want that from someone who's a stranger to him, someone that was completely unknown to him when he woke up that morning. He likes the idea that Dean is now a person he will know when he wakes up in every morning to come. Dean doesn't let go of his hand for the rest of the drive, navigating one-handed through the streets at Castiel's direction until they pull up to the little rundown cottage that he and Meg rent on a lonely street.

"Can I walk you to your door?" Dean asks. "I don't expect you to invite me in," he amends quickly, and Castiel nods before releasing his hand, exiting the vehicle curbside as Dean comes around the front and takes his hand again without hesitation. They pick their way up the sidewalk that’s often overrun with weeds in the summer, unchecked life sprouting up through its cracks. Now in the brisk cold of December it’s barren and less welcoming, the opposite of what he wants to convey. 

They reach the door and Castiel turns to Dean, unsure of what to do next. 

"Well, this is me. Obviously," he says, gesturing to the front door as they stand in a semicircle of light thrown by the faux gas lantern that hangs above the mailbox. 

"Right, well," Dean responds awkwardly, shuffling his foot against the concrete step.

Suddenly the front door opens wide, and they both startle as they look into the entrance. Meg stands there, cocking an eyebrow at them, and points up before unceremoniously slamming the door shut again.

Castiel is staring at the door, dumbfounded, when he hears Dean huff with laughter, and then looks up himself.

Mistletoe. Which was not there when he left for work earlier today.

"Dean, you don't have to..." but he doesn't finish the thought as warm hands cradle his face, lips pressing into his, and he closes his eyes as his arms wrap around Dean's waist. The kiss is soft and undemanding, but full of so much unspoken promise. 

They break away untold minutes later, and Dean rests their foreheads together for a moment before he pulls back, moving to wrap his arms around Castiel's back instead.

"I've been wanting to do that for hours, ever since you had cinnamon sugar on your lips," he says shyly, a blush coming up over his cheeks, and Castiel drops his head onto Dean's shoulder. 

They finally say their goodnights, and maybe exchange a few more kisses, and then Dean makes his way jauntily down the sidewalk. He waits in his car until Castiel opens the door and turns to wave, and then he pulls away.

Castiel can't wipe the smile off his face as he removes his coat, hanging it on the peg by the front door, and then pulling his phone out of his back pocket. He remembers that Dean sent him a text earlier, and he wants to save his number before he does anything else.

_Unknown: I would really like to kiss you right now, but we're in the middle of the mall. Are you free tomorrow night?_

***

Against his better judgement, Castiel allows Meg to dress him for his date the next night in a light blue button down with a sweater vest, dark gray with an argyle pattern in lighter grays and blues. She rolls up his sleeves to expose his forearms and opens his topmost button, then steps back to give him an assessing look. 

"Turn around for me," she says, twirling her finger, and he rolls his eyes even as he complies. "Yes, I think this will work perfectly. He'll never know that we shop exclusively at the Goodwill." 

"Are you sure? These jeans feel rather snug." He tries to pull at one leg of the dark denim, but they stretch so tautly over his thighs that he can't get any purchase.

"I know, that's the whole reason I chose them. If he doesn't have that ass in both hands before the night's over you'll need to call an ambulance, because he will have stopped breathing. That's the only way it won't happen."

"Meg!"

"What?" she says, blinking innocently at him. "Do you think I wasn't watching the show last night from behind the curtain? I could tell he was holding back, but he kissed you with _intent_ , and I, for one, hope those intentions are dishonorable."

"We _just met_ ," he hisses at her. "We've known each other for roughly a _day_ and you already think we should sleep together?"

"I thought you should have slept together yesterday, but he seemed like too much of a gentleman to fuck on the first date."

" _This_ is the first date!" he says helplessly as she hands him his leather cuffed watch to pair with the outfit. 

"Nope. First date was pretzels. You had food together and that makes it a date. I don't make the rules."

He throws up his hands in exasperation and studies himself in the full length mirror on the door of his closet. He examines his tousled dark hair and the ghost of stubble on his jaw, his now pale skin making it more obvious. It accentuates the cleft in his chin and the deep divot above his full lips. 

"At least I'm not completely unfortunate looking," he says, narrowing his eyes at his own reflection, and Meg clucks her tongue at him.

"You're a moron. I've been telling you for years that you're handsome." She stands behind him and fixes his collar, pulling it out from the vest and smoothing down the points. "Did you see how hot Dean was? They seek out their own." She pats him on the chest. "I volunteer as surrogate for the beautiful children you'll make together. I won't even suggest that we make his the old-fashioned way, that's how much I respect you as a person."

He's opening his mouth to retort when there's a knock at the front door, and she smiles ear to ear as he freezes.

"He's here," he says stupidly, nervously patting himself, checking for his wallet, and Meg laughs.

"Don't worry, you've got your spectacles, testicles, wallet, and watch. You're good to go." She puts her hands on his back and starts pushing him towards the front door.

"I don't wear glasses."

"You've got your _eyeballs_. Jesus Christ, you've already kissed him how are you this nervous?"

He stops and turns to grab her by the shoulders. "What if it was a fluke? What if he doesn't really like me? Meg, we both know I'm not very interesting. What if this is a disaster?" There's another knock at the door, and Castiel looks at it frantically.

"Coming!" Meg shouts in that direction, before reaching up to take Castiel's face in her hands. "Listen to me. How many people do I hate?" He blinks at her stupidly, and she shakes him a little bit. "Focus! How many people do I hate?"

"That's a trick question. You hate everyone."

"Exactly. I hate everyone. Except you." She steps back and gives him a hard look. "You're my unicorn, and you're worth it. And this guy could see it even when you were dressed like a moron."

He relaxes a bit, his shoulders losing their tension, and he lets out a relieved breath. 

"Thanks, Meg," he says, pulling her into a hug and kissing the top of her head.

He's a little more collected when he opens the door, but that doesn't stop his heart from skipping a beat at the sight of Dean on the other side of it. He's wearing khaki pants and a cream cable knit sweater over a checked button down of lilac, with the same leather jacket as before, and Castiel's mouth goes a little dry.

"Hey, you ready?" Dean says with a disarming smile, and Castiel nods slowly.

"Yeah, just..." he reaches behind the door to grab his trench coat, and as he glances in Meg's direction she gives him two thumbs up. He smiles as he heads onto the porch and pulls the door shut behind him, shrugging into his coat as they head to Dean's car.

Dean hastens a step or two ahead of him as they reach it, opening his passenger door with a flourish, and Castiel laughs. 

"Such a gentleman," he says, sliding onto the bench seat. Dean shuts the door carefully behind him and moves quickly around the front of the car to get behind the wheel. He smiles at Castiel as he starts up the car, the still warm engine blowing heated air across their calves as it pulls away from the curb.

They're only driving for a few minutes when Dean reaches over to take Castiel's hand, pulling him a little closer. "Thanks for agreeing to go out with me again," he says. "There's someplace I want to take you after we eat. Is that okay?" 

"Of course, Dean. Where to?"

"Oh, it's a surprise."

"Then I'm intrigued."

"It's mostly outside, but we don't have to be there long since apparently neither of us know how to invest in appropriate winter wear," he says with a grin.

"Yes, I noticed you seem rather attached to that leather jacket."

"Well, I hate having on a big, bulky coat. Makes it hard to move my arms. I feel like the little brother in _A Christmas Story_. What about you? That trench coat is hardly warm."

"Oh, well. It's the only one I have, so it's this or nothing." The truth is, he often sees much warmer coats at the Goodwill that would fit him, but he can't bring himself to buy them. _Somewhere_ , he always thinks, _is a person who needs this more than I do_. Castiel has shelter on cold nights, but he remembers all too well the brief time when he didn't, and how awful it felt at night even in the early fall when there was nothing between him and the ground. He doesn't know what would have happened to him without Meg.

They don't speak for the rest of the drive, just riding along in companionable silence, but Dean's hand is warm and firm as he rubs circles into Castiel's skin with his thumb.

Dean takes them to a diner, and Castiel is relieved that it's not a fancy establishment where he'll feel completely out of place. It's an older diner. The interior is like a time capsule from another era, but at the same time gives off the vibe of a place well-loved. Castiel smiles to himself as Dean requests a booth, then helps him remove his coat. He folds it onto the bench seat before placing his own leather jacket on top of it, then slides into that side of the booth as Castiel sits opposite.

A waitress appears without delay to give them menus and take their drink orders, giving them both a matronly smile before she wanders off. 

"The burgers here are great, and they have seasoned curly fries that I like a lot," Dean suggests, and when their waitress returns that's what they both order. 

"You come here often?" Castiel asks as she walks away with their menus, dropping them into a rack at the end of the counter as she passes behind it. 

"Yeah, this is kind of my favorite place." Dean looks a little sheepish with his admission, and Castiel finds the faint blush creeping up his neck rather endearing. "I, uh, I've never brought a date here before, though."

"No?"

"Well, I really like this place, and I always felt like I didn't want it tainted if I brought someone here and they didn't like it, or the date went poorly."

"Oh? Why aren't you worried that I'm going to ruin it for you?" He tilts his head, genuinely curious, and Dean reaches across the table to brush the pads of his fingers lightly across Castiel's knuckles before he answers.

"I just have a really good feeling about you." Dean turns Castiel's hand over, tracing the lines along his palm, stroking up to the tip of a finger. He moves to the next fingertip over, then repeats the process down to the wrist, unknowingly stoking the coals of a fire banked beneath Castiel's ribs. 

"What feeling is that?" he manages to croak when he finds his voice again. 

"That all the things I enjoy will just be enhanced if you're with me," Dean says, finally looking up at him. Their silent stare holds them each captive in their own thoughts until their waitress comes back with food. Dean pulls his hand away, but Castiel can still feel the lingering trace of those fingers against his skin, their warmth against his pulse point.

They chat about innocuous things as they eat. Dean works for a local brewery, though he and some of his friends are hoping to open their own microbrew pub in the future. Castiel reveals that he has a job at the Gas-N-Sip close to where he lives, in addition to working as a mall elf. 

"I know it's nothing to brag about, but my manager is very nice. I'm sure she finds me just as awkward as most people do, but she still treats me kindly."

"What do you mean that people think you're awkward? I don't think you're awkward." Castiel shrugs as he finishes his burger, then drags a french fry through his remaining ketchup as he thinks about how to answer. 

"There are a lot of things I missed out on, growing up with nuns," he starts quietly. "Most of the kids there got adopted when they were young, but no one ever seemed to want me. I was a very quiet and withdrawn child, at first afraid to get too close to the other kids because they'd go away. Eventually they started to avoid _me_ , because I was older than most of them and still at the home." He puts the french fry in his mouth, chewing thoughtfully. "I was ten when Meg came, and she’s about a year older. Her parents were killed in an accident but she was thrown from the car, and there was nowhere for her to go from the hospital. She had no other family, her parents had no will and nothing to leave for her care."

"I guess the two of you naturally gravitated towards each other," Dean says, but Castiel laughs.

"Yes and no. She terrified me at first. I tried to stay away from her, but she wouldn't have it. She finally told me that I was going to be her friend, and I had no choice in the matter." He smiles to himself, remembering. "She was the first person I came out to, when I was sixteen."

"I bet that was really easy to face, given that you were raised in a Catholic environment," Dean says drily, and Castiel huffs in agreement. 

"Meg was able to convince me that I wasn't going to go to hell and that there was nothing wrong with me. Understand that my education came solely from the nuns, and I'd really never been exposed to anything outside those walls. We had no television, no radio, no popular magazines. Until Meg came, the only life I knew was the one they crafted for me. So I often feel unsure of myself even now, trying to navigate in the world."

"So you turned eighteen and they made you leave. Is that what happened?" 

"Not...exactly," Castiel swallows, still embarrassed about the circumstances that led to his departure.

"Hey," Dean says softly, catching his attention and giving him a smile. "You don't have to tell me anything you don't want to." 

"I know," he replies, and the knowledge that Dean won't press for more actually loosens his tongue. "Meg had introduced me to a boy about six months before, after she'd moved out on her own. His name was Balthazar. He convinced me one night to sneak him in after hours. He thought it would be thrilling to have an illicit assignation so close to all the 'penguins', as he called them."

"Uh-oh," Dean breathes.

"Exactly. He conveniently forgot to be quiet at an inopportune moment. They let him go, but Mother Superior made sure to give me an earful about how I'd be cast into the fires of hell for a good hour before she put me out on the street with nothing but the clothes on my back."

"Oh my god," Dean says in disbelief. "What did you do?" 

"Wallowed, mostly. I'm ashamed to say I let that speech get to me, and I was too embarrassed to go to Meg and ask for help. Balthazar must have told her what happened though, because she went back to the orphanage and raised hell until they gave her my few belongings. It took her three weeks to track me down. I'd been sleeping on the street, and she was _furious_ with me. She took me home with her and put me back together. That was four years ago now." 

Dean is quiet as he contemplates this, and when the waitress asks if they want anything else he shakes his head and she leaves the check for them with a smile. Dean pulls it towards him and gives Castiel a look that tells him not to argue. He notices that Dean tips generously, and if he were in any way unsure about Dean's character before now, that would have _tipped_ the scales in his favor.

"You ready to go?" he asks Castiel quietly. Dean slides out after he nods, pulling their coats with him and holding up the trench for Castiel to slide his arms into first. After he shrugs into his own jacket, he takes Castiel's hand firmly before moving towards the exit, and then once again after they've gotten into the car. It seems he doesn't know what to say yet in response to the things Castiel told him, but wants to reassure him through touch that nothing's wrong. Castiel appreciates both the desire to silently process, and the comfort afforded by Dean's proximity. 

It takes a few minutes before Dean turns down a street that leads to a large parking lot. There are quite a few cars there, but Castiel can't quite see yet they’re all parked there for. Dean smiles at him after he shuts off the engine.

"Come on, I want to show you this."

They get out, and Dean doesn't take Castiel's hand this time. Instead, he puts an arm around his shoulder as they walk to the end of the row, and then turn left.

 _Holiday Village_ says a sign all decked out with Christmas lights and holly, and beyond that he can see a bunch of what looks like small houses. 

"What is this?" Castiel asks curiously. 

"In the summer there's always a flea market in this space, but there are a few stand alone buildings that some vendors are in year round. There are little artisan cottages clustered in the center of all the market vendors. Every year they deck them out for Christmas."

They're approaching the first one now, and Castiel can see that there's a central area that all the buildings are grouped around, and all along the paths before them are red and green paper bags, filled with tealights. They're everywhere actually, hundreds and hundreds of them festively flickering in the cold night air, even on the steps leading up to each cottage. He leans into Dean's side as they walk among them, not even interested yet in what's in the shops themselves, just admiring the display. His arm wraps around Dean's waist, and feels at home there.

"My mom and dad split up when I was just a kid, and mom had to work two jobs," Dean says softly, but they're so close that Castiel has no problem hearing him. "Dad was never around, and when he was… Well. He had a drinking problem for a long time when we were kids. It's what ended their marriage." Dean clears his throat. "It was hard on her, hard on me and Sam, too, but every year at Christmas she would bring us here. She'd give us each twenty dollars, and let us go through all the shops together to buy whatever we wanted for ourselves. No matter what was happening that year, no matter how strapped she was for cash or time, she did that for us. Every single year. It's one of my favorite memories, running around these shops with my baby brother, buying peppermint bark and singing along to Christmas carols."

"That sounds wonderful, Dean," Castiel says, unable to keep the happy thrill out of his voice as he looks up at him. "I wish I had a memory like that." 

Dean looks down at him, then directs him to a little area away from the crowds, not as brightly lit as the rest, just beyond a cluster of tealights. He turns to him and takes both of his hands, then leans in to kiss him gently on the lips.

"Castiel," he says. "Cas. I know we've just met. I know you don't know me that well. I know what I'm about to say is going to sound crazy." He looks so unsure but so determined that Castiel just reacts, stepping closer and putting his arms around Dean's waist. He threads his arms under Dean’s jacket and puts his head on Dean's chest. Dean's arms go around him and hold him tight before he continues. "I meant what I said, about sharing our pasts and then making newer, happier memories. I brought you here because this is the happiest memory I have from my childhood, and everything you've told me says that you don't have any."

"So you wanted to share it with me?" he asks, and Dean runs a hand through his hair. 

"Not only to share it with you, but to start a new tradition for you. One of happy things. This seemed like the place to start." Castiel can feel Dean's chest rising under his cheek as he takes a deep breath. "I know I just met you, I know all of this is going to sound crazy, but...I felt an instant connection with you that I’ve never felt before. Something profound. Maybe it’s nuts, I don’t know. All I know is that I want to start spending as much time as I can with you, share my life with you, share my family with you. I want you to come spend Christmas day with us, you and Meg. I don't want you to ever be alone again." 

Castiel remembers being a child at Christmas time, often alone, and then later only with Meg. She would tell him stories of the way that Christmas was for her when her parents were alive, and it had always filled him with a strange longing for something he'd never known and couldn't imagine, of presents and cookies and laughter. Imagining a life with family like that made him warm inside for a time, but soon enough harsh reality would step back in to take it from him. 

Now, standing here in this festive place, holiday lights twinkling all around, candles flickering at their feet, Castiel knows that the warm feeling that's been inside him since he met Dean is just going to continue to grow. He'd felt it lodge itself in his chest the moment Dean had clasped his knee as they sat by the fountain, and it grew with their kiss under the mistletoe. He thinks eventually it will spread into all his extremities, to the tips of his very fingers, a warm glow that lingers on and on. 

He smiles and brings their lips together, chaste at first and then more forcefully. Dean pulls him closer, his hands moving into Castiel's trench coat and under his sweater vest, palms warm against his lower back, and then moving down to firmly grip his backside.

Castiel pulls away with a laugh, and Dean gives him a confused smile.

"What is it?"

"I guess I don't have to call an ambulance." Dean cocks an eyebrow at him, and Castiel shakes his head with a grin. "I'll tell you later. Back at my house." 

Dean looks surprised at first, then pleased, then triumphant. "Good. That's good, Cas." He pulls Castiel's hips flush against his own as he kisses him deeply once more, then pulls away to take him by the hand. 

"Come on," he says, gesturing with his head in the direction of the shops. "Let's get some peppermint bark and get this tradition started." 

Castiel grins as he follows Dean back out into the light, just imagining the memory they're going to make later.


End file.
